


Commander

by Shampain



Series: Bury A Friend [2]
Category: Captain Marvel (2019), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Blood Kink, Bottom Yon-Rogg, Conjugal Visit, Dom/sub, F/M, Femdom, Top Carol Danvers, Woman on Top, maybe since she hits him, whhhyyyyy am i writing this
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-13
Updated: 2019-03-13
Packaged: 2019-11-17 13:47:15
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,303
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18099707
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Shampain/pseuds/Shampain
Summary: Carol can't really deny what happened with Yon-Rogg in that prison cell, though she'd have been perfectly happy to let it fade from memory. But that's difficult when there's footage of it.





	Commander

**Author's Note:**

> Apparently this burning trash barge of a ship won't get out of my head. I hope you enjoy the ride with me, fellow space pervs. There is probably going to be more where this came from.  
> The series title comes from the song "Bury A Friend" by Billie Eilish, which is _so_ Carol and Yon that I can't even handle it.

It was the third time she looked at the footage.

Carol didn't really have a thing for voyeurism, though she wondered if _he_ did, because he didn't seem to care in the slightest in that cell when she had climbed on top of him and made him hers. Then again, Yon-Rogg probably just didn't care about anything. It was true that he lied to her, but a person couldn't lie all day, all the time, not even a Kree warrior. She knew that most of what she had experienced from him those days had been real, and he had always been so comfortable with himself. She had admired that strength of his, before finding it in herself. Now, she just recognized its presence.

The first time she'd watched the footage had been curiosity, and she had to grin at it, too; if she hadn't taken it from the prison security system, she was sure it would have been copied for all the prison guards to take a look at in their off hours. Her ass had been rather spectacularly on full display due to the main camera angle and her position on top. She had a good ass, too. She had leaned back in her chair and given the holograph a _Top Gun_ salute, clicking her tongue appreciatively. “Not bad, Carol,” she told the video dryly. Then she'd put the file away, and gone about her day.

A few days later, she found herself watching it again as she drank her morning coffee. She had been thinking about it, at night, how at one moment she had dearly wanted to kiss him – a real one, deep and insidious. She tapped her fingers against the holograph, shifting angles when she could. It was low quality, but a decent copy for a prison. She was able to zoom in to take a closer look at his face, especially when they were standing by the window and talking.

She studied him carefully. She flicked her fingertip and skipped ahead, to when they began to trade blows. There was a glint to his eyes she remembered from their old training sessions; she wondered when was the last time he had fought for the joy of it, because that was what it was. Joy.

But the real surprise was flipping over to her own face, and seeing the exact same expression there. She felt the bottom drop out of her stomach, and she closed the video.

She left it again for over a week. There were other things to do with her time, things she had to do as Captain Marvel, things she _wanted_ to do as Captain Marvel, and that was enough for her. Until late one night after a battle, after she had showered and was sipping a synth protein drink and idly doodling faces on the bruises on her legs.

The problem was... the problem was it had been good. Really good. Good sex was remarkably hard to come by when you were a superhero; it was like all the good lays were too terrified of you. And she and Yon-Rogg, they had known each others’ bodies, intimately, long before their clothes had come off. So Carol sat at her desk, booted up her onboard computer, and put the video on again. And this time she allowed herself to really watch.

“God damn,” she muttered. She'd almost let herself forget how he had begged. She closed her eyes for a moment and listened. The noise was obscene. It was hard to determine which gasp belonged to him and which to her, especially over the sweaty collision of their limbs and the angry creaking of the prison cot. She opened her eyes when they both came. No. When she _made_ him come. She cracked a smile at the broken bed.

She moved to rewind it, and paused. Really? A rewatch? Why not... just a redo?

She was Captain fucking Marvel.

Was this a bad idea? Maybe. But she was allowed to have bad ideas. She went over to the pilot's seat of her ship, and began to punch in coordinates. It wasn't that far, anyway.

 

“He's asleep,” the guard said.

“Well, wake him up,” she said, and watched, amused, as he slammed his lighted baton repeatedly against the door. Yeah, she was being a jerk, but Yon-Rogg was also a jerk, and he probably liked it anyway.

He went to key in the code for the lights, but she held her hand up. “No, leave them off,” she said, and brought a few flames to life on her fist for a moment before quenching them; if she wanted light she could make it. The guard gave her a hooded look, and then nodded.

Nice thing about being Captain Marvel? People kind of let her do whatever she wanted.

She opened the door and stepped inside, pausing just within the threshold. As the door whooshed closed behind her she took a minute figuring out where he was, thinking she would be able to feel his presence. Her eyes adjusted to the starry view outside the window.

“You’re back,” he remarked, quietly, in the dark. From the distance and direction of his voice, she figured he was on the bed.

She turned in the direction of his voice and held her fist up, bringing a whoosh of amber energy to life, and started in surprise. He was not on the bed, he was close to her, not two feet away, hands in his pockets and surveying her. His eyes glittered and his face seemed shadowed, particularly under his eyes.

“Damn, this lighting is supposed to be flattering,” she said. “You haven’t been sleeping, commander.”

A flash of annoyance across his face. “I’m not a commander,” he said, and she realized she had actually managed to insult him instead of just teasing him. Did she feel bad? Maybe.

“I’m curious–” she said.

“Just like the last time.”

“Was I a whole, 'I giveth you a promotion and then I taketh it away' scenario?” she wondered.

“It was Supreme Intelligence who did that.”

“Yeah, but I had something to do with it, didn’t I? You know, without me you wouldn't have made commander at all, so. You're welcome.”

“Is this why you’re here, Vers?” he asked. “To needle at me? Is this going to be some sort of routine? Because I have to say, I would expect you to have a busier schedule, and I already get enough brats on a daily basis here that I don’t need another one.”

 _Brats that make you beg?_ She wanted to ask. Instead she said, “Huh. _Brat_. How much older are you than me, anyway? I’ve always wondered.”

He said nothing.

She considered him, flexing her fingers so the light wavered around the room. He was wearing a sweater, the sort of item she remembered him in often, back on Hala. When he wasn’t in his armour and leather, he was always mooching (if what Yon-Rogg did could be considered _mooching_ ) around in the softer gear. Unlike most of the commanders who preferred to be polished and in tailored outfits in the newest styles, Yon-Rogg didn't bother with it. And honestly, she forced him to spar with her enough that putting him in anything else was a waste of time.

She’d always liked the look of him, like that. Strangely soft.

“That’s it?” she says. “No more talking?”

“Are you here to talk?” he asked, archly.

She wasn’t. She put her hand to her mouth, smirking, and blew, as if she were blowing out the light. The darkness was absolute. She braced for contact, expecting him to tackle her. Instead, she suddenly felt... an absence.

“Why don’t you come and get me, Vers,” he suggested, somewhere to her right.

“My name is Carol,” she said, turning towards his voice.

“Tell you what? I'll call you by that name if you beat me.”

“Seriously?” she asked, trying to sound aghast, but actually she was grinning. This was different. This was... it was just. Different. He had always played a strange part for her, somewhere between mentor and friend. But he had never been something that could be described as very playful. Maybe leaving the Kree removed the stick up his ass? She wondered.

And despite that, this still reminded her of old times.

She took a step forward, all of her senses alert. She tried to quiet her breathing, so that perhaps she could hear his. It was not a large cell. She could run around with her arms outstretched like an idiot and make contact with him, but this was more than hide and seek.

She thought she knew where he was. She darted forward, but she was off by a few inches and he clotheslined her. Carol hit the ground with a thud and then rolled before he could leap on her, but he had expected that. He managed to get a handful of her hair.

She yelled in annoyance and pain and threw herself backward, getting her elbow right beneath his ribs. Though they couldn't see each other she knew his body, knew how he moved. His foot swept under her ankles, sending her to the ground on her back. She kicked up and connected with something briefly – his chin, maybe.

She jumped to her feet, and ducked, expecting him to go for the punch, and smirked when she sensed his fist whooshing over her head. But then he tackled her right around the middle and sent her back, crashing against the bullet-proof glass of the fake window, the window frame digging into her lower back. She hissed in pain.

For a moment she saw the outline of his face in the starry glow, before she promptly headbutted him and sent him crashing to the floor.

She grabbed at his arms, hands glowing. He stilled. “That's cheating,” he said, though he didn't seem particularly perturbed, or even out of breath. Actually, he sounded... pleased.

“Yeah, well,” she breathed, making herself comfortable on top of him. “You've got to set the rules of engagement beforehand.”

He tried to push her off of him, but all Carol did was scoot herself back and grab at his sweatshirt, tugging him upright so that she was sitting in his lap. She felt his breath on her face and scented blood. Desire rippled through her. He made her feel like a shark, ready to feed. She leaned in and her lips grazed over his cheek, and she found and nipped at his ear. His body stiffened against hers.

Interesting, she thought. Ears were an erogenous zone for humans. Yet another way Yon-Rogg was like her. What did he used to be? Had he always been Kree or did he have another background, as she did?

“Bed,” she said.

“No,” he snapped, surprising her for a moment. Until he said, “They beat me for breaking the last one.”

She bristled.

“Fuckers,” she muttered against his ear, and bit his neck. He shuddered. For a moment Carol was seized by the thought that if he was going to be beaten, it should only be by her.

She wrapped an arm around him, keeping him close, and smiled to herself as she felt his hands up over her back. Before, she had cuffed him because she couldn't trust him but here, in the dark, she was so in tune with him she wasn't worried. She knew what he wanted, now, and she was happy to comply.

She was stronger than him, too, and it made her feel powerful. She buried her other hand in his hair, gripping tightly, heard him hum in enjoyment. Had there been no other person to do this to him? She wondered. Maybe, just maybe, she had unlocked that in him.

She began to move her body, rocking her hips down against him. She dragged him against her in a way that meant he was groaning against her throat, and she shivered. In the darkness, so focused, she could smell him – that familiar musk she remembered. Missing the colognes and the body washes she had known, but still unmistakable. It was animal. She wanted it. She leaned back and ground her ass down into his lap, where she felt his growing erection.

He forced out a curse and she smiled. “I'll take care of you,” she promised in a hoarse whisper.

Yon-Rogg scraped his teeth down her throat, tentatively, and she shuddered before tugging roughly on his hair. “Careful,” she warned.

“Give me something,” he breathed. “Please.”

She felt a tremor down her spine. Fuck, she thought. _Fuck_. She let go of him so she could fumble with her jacket, unzipping herself. She felt dirty, in a good way – before arriving at the prison, she'd gone and divested herself of any undergarments she normally wore under her suit. When she gripped his hair and forced his face into her bare chest, she had to admit his groan of surprise was very, very rewarding.

He ran his mouth up between her breasts, nibbling at her collarbone. She murmured in appreciation, leaning back slightly, and began to rock her hips back and forth. He was getting hard, she could feel the firm line of his cock between the cleft of her ass. She forced his head lower, moaned when his lips found her left nipple. “Suck,” she ordered, thrilled when he did so.

She was hot, and wet. She wanted his cock inside of her, filling her, dominating her senses. But she also wanted to make sure he knew who was in charge.

His teeth focused around the point of her nipple and she gasped. “Watch it,” she growled, pulling his hair, and felt him replace his teeth with his tongue. She reached down, unzipping her pants, and felt around blindly in the dark until she found one of his hands. She forced it down the front of her underwear, shuddering, his fingers as eager as his mouth as his digits curled against her.

“You can fuck me if you're good,” she promised hoarsely, and felt him shudder. Then her own breathing hitched as he slipped his fingers between her folds, circling her clit.

She leaned back so she could grind her ass down against his cock and also take full advantage of his hand. She was barely aware of what she was saying, but she was encouraging him, she knew, because he pressed a finger inside of her and then, just as she wanted, he added another.

She dragged her nails over his shoulders and down his back. _He's mine_ , she thought, dizzily. She bucked her hips, the heel of his palm rubbing against her and his fingers thrusting inside of her, but his hand wasn't enough. She reached back and rubbed him through his pants, roughly.

Twisting her other hand in his hair, she dragged his face up to hers so she could bite at his bottom lip. She tasted, smelled, blood. She'd made him bleed earlier, somehow, she couldn't remember. Then she thrust him roughly down against the ground. “Be still,” she ordered and, in the dark, began to strip him.

A part of her wished she could see his face – his whole body, really, but she had kept the lights off for a reason. And in any case, she could sense him; feeling the warmth of his body, even when he wasn't touching her. She hungered for him, that was the truth. She didn't know why. Was she yearning for what had been or was she craving something new?

Finally disrobed, she ran her hands up his legs and felt him shiver. She thought for a moment about wrapping her lips around his cock, but decided that would be for another time, when she could make sure he could see it.

It was dark, now, so instead she found herself shucking off her own pants and turning away from him, but still straddling his hips. Unlike last time, where she had teased him, she wasted no time in grabbing his cock and guiding him inside of her.

She groaned, spreading her legs wide as she seated herself on him. She flinched in surprise when one of his arms snaked around her waist, until she realized he had sat up and was helping steady her. His mouth, wet and rough, pressed between her shoulder blades. She shifted, rolling her hips experimentally, and he moaned.

 _Perfect_ , she thought, or maybe she panted it out loud as she began to lift and drop her hips.

It was a fantastic angle, hitting her in all the right places. She dragged her nails down his thighs as she moved, listening to his tight, desperate breathing. She gasped in surprise when he surged forward, toppling her forward, forcing her belly down on the floor, his warm and strong body above her.

She gripped one of his wrists and heated her touch until he was hissing with pain. “What are you doing?” she snarled.

“Whatever you want,” he breathed against the back of her neck.

He was. In this position she could get him to thrust as deep into her as he could. Still she didn't let him go. “Who's in command?” She asked, warningly.

He was silent until she gripped his wrist more tightly and he gasped. “You are,” he admitted.

“Good.” She let his wrist go. “What are you waiting for?” she asked. There was some pleasure to be had in speaking to him in the same tone he used to order her around in. “I want to come.”

His chest pressed against her back. She propped herself up on her elbows with a hum of enjoyment as he began to move, his cock thrusting deep inside of her. Yes; let him do all the work. She spread her legs, bracing her knees against the floor, and buried her face in her arms, moaning gently.

Then she felt his hand between her legs, thrusting slickly against her clit in time with his thrusts, and she cried out in surprise, bucking underneath him. He'd been paying attention to what she liked.

“Faster,” she growled out, baring her teeth in a grin as he groaned against her shoulder. He quickened his pace, the slap of flesh against flesh even louder and more perverted in the darkness of the cell. She rolled her hips forward and back between his fingers and his cock, gasping with pleasure. He was good. He was really, really good.

 _I ought to just take him home with me_.

She climaxed as she ground herself down against his hand, his cock throbbing inside of her. He made a noise halfway between a whimper and a moan and she couldn't help but laugh, albeit a bit breathlessly. And, doing something she swore she'd wanted to do ever since she'd seen him in their tight leather outfits, she reached back and slapped his ass.

“Carol,” he growled, but then she was turning on him and wrestling him to the ground before he could do anything else. She wrapped her hand around his cock and began to stroke and tug, her speed rough and demanding, her other hand firmly on his chest to keep him pinned down. Not that it was needed; as soon as she began to touch him he was pliant, writhing on the ground and pushing his hips up onto her fist. She tightened her grip and twisted her fist up and he came with a sharp cry. She felt his seed on her hand.

Smirking, she found something in the dark – probably an item of his clothing, she thought with dark pleasure – and wiped her hand clean before she scrambled atop him, seating herself on his waist. He let out a faint puff of breath but otherwise, did not complain.

“I think I won that match,” she crowed.

“Hmph,” he mumbled.

She trailed a fingertip over his chest. His skin was hot and shuddered beneath her. “You haven't had a sparring partner in ages, have you?” she asked. “Losing your touch, old man.”

He let out a whuff of breath and she felt him let his head fall back against the floor. “Fifteen,” he said.

“What now?”

“I'm fifteen years older than you.”

“Huh,” she said, thoughtfully, still breathing a bit unevenly. She let her hands play over his chest a bit more. “That's not such a big age difference. I mean. It might be at first-”

“Yes, that's great,” he interrupted. “Have you got a handkerchief?”

“Hm?”

“My nose,” he said tiredly.

Oh, fuck, had she...? She held one of her lit hands up and sure enough, he had a rather blue, bloody nose. Her headbutt earlier had been right on the mark. “Damn it,” she said, scooting back a bit. With her other hand she grabbed his shoulder and hauled him up into a sitting position, which seemed to surprise him. “I didn't plan on doing that. It's not broken, is it?”

“Why do you care?” he asked. There was a tinge of amusement to his voice. Or maybe she misheard, because she couldn't hear him very well as he pressed the back of his hand against his nose.

“I happen to like the shape of your nose,” she said.

He produced a dismissive noise.

She let the glow of her energy move up her hand and onto her shoulders, bathing them both in a soft light. “Let me see,” she said, trying to pull his wrist back.

“You're not a nurse, my mother, or someone I particularly find comforting,” he said, pushing her hands away. “Back off.”

She'd hit him in the face like that before, years ago. Hell, he'd done the same to her on multiple occasions during sparring. The nostalgia was almost too much; she couldn't help but grin. “Remember the last time I did that?”

“Yes. You hit me and then you were so busy bragging I knocked you flat right after.” As if to demonstrate, he put his hand to her chest and sent her sprawling off of him.

“Hey!” she exclaimed.

He was starting to get up off the floor, so she reached out, grabbed his knee and tugged. He fell back with an annoyed growl, which she ignored. “You're not going anywhere,” she said, crawling back onto him. Her energy in the room flickered. “We're finishing the conversation.”

“Which conversation?”

“Your nose,” she said. “Has it stopped bleeding?”

Probably realizing he wasn't going anywhere until she had her way, he let her look. “I believe so,” he said, dryly. “If it's such a concern for you, don't headbutt me again.”

“Hm,” she said. She wiped some of the blood from his face with the back of her hand. Their faces were so close, she realized suddenly. He was looking at her, eyes trailing over the side of her face, the line of her neck. She was glowing, he had a much better view of her than she did of him.

What she wanted to do next, she knew she shouldn't; and as she thought about it her fingertips pressed a little too forcefully against his bruised face. He hissed, softly. It was a warning, and they both understood. They were getting too intimate, and it was dangerous. What had she been thinking? She hadn't been. She had been lost, somewhere, on the army base in Hala.

“I'll tell the guards to let you clean up before you get blood everywhere,” she said, climbing off of him. She reached for her pants.

“Carol.”

She turned to look at him, curiously, eyebrows raised. His expression was even and flat.

“I may not be here next time,” he said. “This isn't that kind of prison.”

There was a sudden lump in her throat that she wasn't sure what to deal with. She'd had her suspicions, but it had been easier to ignore them and pretend she didn't care.

“We'll see,” she said, gathering up the rest of her uniform, tugging it back on rather haphazardly. She patted herself down. She still had the keycard to get in and out; she'd been wondering if he would try to steal it. “Later, Yon.”

She let herself out.

 

Back on her ship, she made herself a cup of coffee with an ancient machine she'd brought from Earth, then sat down at her desk, booting up the computer.

She wanted to take another look at his records in a bit more detail. He'd lived a pretty colourful life as a mercenary, she had to admit. Kind of a waste, though; he was so talented, the things he could have done to help people who really needed it...

She told herself to get off her damn high horse. Everybody needed to eat. Not everyone could live like Carol, where she went where she pleased, and every now and then grateful civilizations threw a bunch of credits at her, so she could afford to help those who couldn't pay.

Intergalactic law had caught up with him a few years back. He'd been in two prisons since then; she flicked through his records to see what prompted the moves. The usual assortment of bad behaviour, but she had to grin at a few colourful things he'd told some past wardens. Which brought her to the current prison, where apparently... ah. They didn't execute inmates, but they had a habit of... donating them. Her mouth twisted in displeasure. Scientists who bought bodies to experiment on. Warlords who needed battle fodder. And a few other things she didn't feel like looking into further.

Huh. Maybe she should just take him home after all.

 

-

 

_Why aren't you scared of me?_  
_Why do you care for me?_  
_When we all fall asleep, where do we go?_

Billie Eilish, 'Bury A Friend'


End file.
